


The Love of a Good Fight

by WolfIsa



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Fantasy, Gen, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfIsa/pseuds/WolfIsa
Summary: A simple story of Kavan attempting to reignite his Shield-Brother Vilkas's love for fighting.





	The Love of a Good Fight

"What are _we_ doing out here?" the Nord man brusquely whispered beneath his breath, sounding generally irritated and a bit confused.

The redhead beside him chuckled low, "Don't tell me yer upset I volunteered ye t' be my Shield-Sibling fer this?"

"No, I just want to know why you felt you needed someone with you for a single frost troll?" 

"Oh, I didn' but Aela and I agreed ye haven' been out on a contract fer awhile we were afraid ye were gon' t' get fat." 

"So you bring me along to kill a troll?"

"S'not jus' any troll though," Kavan motioned his head to the side just as the ground rumbled around them. 

Vilkas followed the other's indication, glancing over the natural wall they were behind, just far away enough from the creature's den to see their prey. It was a frost troll alright but gods only know what it had been eating out in the frozen wastes here up north. Easily standing as tall as a giant from the Whiterun plains, the beast had to be at least three-times the size of normal, its hands being large enough to hold the skull of one of its average kin with ease. The ground shook again as the troll drew closer to its home, filled with the bones of whatever animals and unfortunate travelers it had managed to catch, the corpse of another fresh kill in tow to be added. 

He brought his head back down, eyes wide, "That's a big troll..."

"Indeed, a very big troll. Still gon' bitch abou' me bringin' ye?"

"It takes three Companions to take down a giant, what in Oblivion makes you think the two of us can take on _that_?" 

“I can do it meself, but again, Aela and I are worried ‘bout yer waistline.”

“Are you insane?”

The Breton sat for a moment before grinning, “As daft as a servant of Sheogorath!” 

Vilkas’s eyes grew even wider when he realized that look. “Oh no-no-no don’t- Kavan you-!”

It was too late. The redheaded spellsword had already leapt out from their spot, that mad bordering on outright bloodthirsty simper still painting his face. He unhooked his shield from his back, placing it firm on his left arm, the other moving to brandish his sword all the while casting Ironflesh at the same time as he sauntered towards the towering beast.

The troll was slow to notice as it had began tearing away at it’s dinner, a poor bovine no doubt missing from one of the contracting town’s farmsteads. It had sat itself down, facing away from the opening of its home and seemed to have little regard for caution. When its attention finally came to Kavan, the man just stood there for a moment before raising his blade, turning the flat side forward and slamming it against his shield, the sound bouncing in to the den and echoing off the walls causing it to be a rather loud taunt. The troll dropped the beef leg it was chewing on and snarled, huge globs of red-tinted saliva spraying from its maw following in the sound’s wake. 

Vilkas was on his way to join his clearly insane Shield-Brother when the monster started to stumble on to its feet, the man nearly stumbling himself as the ground rattled violently. 

“Why did you have to piss it off?!”

“Cause t’wouldn’ be no fun otherwise,” the spellsword commented in response, a light laugh in his breath just before he steeled his knees, shield raised above his head, back curved just enough to create a sturdy base as the troll’s fist came down intending to smash the intruder. The only indicator that Kavan had even felt the impact was a low grunt of effort as the rest of him remained as steadfast as a statue. He tilted his ward downward, just enough to let the weight of the mitt on it slide to the side before he slashed at the wrist holding it with his sword unleashing a pained yowl from the creature and it pulled away its hand. 

By this point, the dark-haired Nord had reached them both, his greatsword ready and while the troll was distracted by the small injury he charged in, aiming for the right knee with it with enough power in the strike if it were a smaller creature the limb would have severed completely but true to the sheer mass of this enemy, all that was made was a large gash above the bone.

A large gash that started healing just after a few spurts of blood burst out…

_Oh...right...troll…_

He glanced over at the cut Kavan had inflicted momentarily and noticed that hadn’t started healing yet but then another realization washed over him.

“You brought an enchanted sword?!”

“O’ course I did!” The redhead took advantage of the slight distraction the healing laceration caused and swung his weapon again, going for the same area and broke through the mending flesh completely making it bleed freely and not likely to close back up soon. 

“Damn mages…” Vilkas grumbled, stepping back to take new stance and prepare for another attack. 

The Shield-Siblings hadn’t fought aside each other before this but an on-looker wouldn’t be able to tell. Their coordination could be envied by the closest brothers-in-arms. First, Vilkas would strike to distract the dimwitted beast long enough for Kavan to follow up on the blow with his blade bearing a fire enchantment. On the occasion the troll managed to get an attack in itself, the Breton would bash his shield with his sword or against the monster to deflect or divert attention to himself. This continued until they brought it to its knees where it only stood slightly over them.

After one strike from the Nord, the enraged troll moved too quickly for Kavan to use his tactic again and its fist came barreling right for Vilkas. The man put his greatsword up and braced for impact, eyes closed. However the familiar sound of troll flesh smacking against metal and bounding out was all that occurred. His eyes opened to the sight of his fellow in front of him in a less than fully stable posture and clearly struggling. 

“Ye’re too s--!” the redhead tried to banter but the creature had opened its fist and grabbed his shield, ripping it up in the air and him along with it, chucking it and him to the side with a nasty growl. His sword was dropped on the snow below just before his forced flight and rather than watch where the Breton would land, Vilkas abandoned his own weapon and snatched up the burning sword instead, plunging it right through the troll’s torso and ripping to the side. It was only after the beast’s innards were spilling forth and it fell to the ground lifeless did he rush to the redhead. 

“And you’re a dumbass,” the man said as he came upon him. 

Kavan laughed heartily, coughing a bit as he had been slammed against a tree trunk and the outburst hurt his very probably bruised and cracked ribcage. “Whatever ye say, Vilkas,” he replied through breaths.

* * *

Back at camp after Vilkas had managed to bring Kavan back along with their weapons and got a fire started, the redhead sat shirtless inside their tent, sat just in front of the other’s lap. 

“I swear if you didn’t have the beast blood that would have broken you,” the dark-haired man muttered, stretching the linens tightly before shifting around to wrap them around Kavan’s chest again.

“Aye, ‘t most likely would’ve,” the spellsword agreed, “But just imagine the stories. **Ow**!” He yelped as his fellow pressed a thumb in to one of the more pronounced bruises. “Thought ye was supposed t’ be the nice twin.”

“I _am_. Farkas would’ve waited until we got back to Windstad and turned in the contract before getting you treatment,” the Nord growled as he continued his work.

“Fair enough,” the redhead replied, still wincing. 

“Can’t you just cast something instead of me doing this though?”

“Not all mages know all th’ magic, y’know? Besides, could ye imagine how I’d be wit’ Restoration at me disposal?”

Vilkas shuttered, “I’d rather not.”

“See? An’ at least ye know how t’ treat wounds. If I hadn’ saved yer ass, I’d have t’ drag ye all the way back.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten thrown in to a tree by a troll.”

“Nah, ye just almost got splattered by one instead. **Ah**! Would ye stop doin’ that ye jackass?”

The Nord finished the wrappings and slapped Kavan on the back for good measure then moved to seat himself on his own bedroll, an amused smirk on his lips as the redhead couldn’t rub the afflicted spot and whined from the punishment. 

He set in to his pack, grabbing out a couple of apples and tossing one over only to sigh as the Breton shot over to catch it only for the fruit to smack the man in the face and cause another pained gripe to slip from him as he reached to grab it.

They ate their snack in silence...or rather relative silence as every time Kavan tried to get comfortable he’d moan or wince like an uncomfortable child during their first camping trip but Vilkas couldn’t _entirely_ blame him. To hold an injury like that and not have it heal as a werewolf meant it was pretty bad and he wasn’t joking when he had said if it weren’t for that fact, the other male would be dead. One of the few times to be grateful for such an infliction as after the loss of Kodlak, the Nord couldn’t bear the thought of losing another Companion and he was sure it was the same for Kavan.

* * *

It took nearly an hour for the redhead to get comfortable, shifting from side to side, trying to figure out if laying down or sitting up was better, or just moving so that damn little pebble beneath the bedroll wasn’t stabbing him in the side. When he finally was however, he let out a loud satisfied sigh. 

“It’d be a right bitch if I had t’ piss right now,” he remarked, blue eyes rolling over to his fellow across the tent. 

“Yep, that’d be a damn shame ‘cause I’m not helping you do that. It was tiring enough carrying you back to camp and getting your armor undone. You’re deceptively heavy for being so small.”

“I’m not that small. I’ll remind ye I’m taller than ye are.”

“Yes but thinner.”

“Well excuse me, Bretons aren’ chunk buckets of meat like ye Nords but we ain’ small either. I think ye just are out o’ shape from sittin’ on yer tail back home.”

“Again with that? Where are you and Aela coming up with this theory that I’m getting lazy?”

Kavan risked his newfound comfort to roll on his side and place a hand to hold up his head, a brow arched, “Ye really have no idea? Ye haven’t been out on a contract since Kodlak’s funeral. Tha’ was a year ago, mate. I got ye were grievin’, we all were but at some point ye’ gots t’ stop mollycoddlin’ yerself and get back in t’ it.”

The other male looked over at him, an expression of sad surprise on his face, “Has it really been that long?”

“Jus’ about, yeh. After us Companions wiped out the Silver Hand, ye’ve jus’ meandered about like a lost pup. Even Farkas was worried ‘bout you an’ that boy is as sharp as a wooden ladle.”

“Don’t let him catch you saying that,” Vilkas defended at first but it was clear he knew Kavan was telling the truth.

“Admit it,” the Breton said, trying to act like he wasn’t sitting there half-naked with brace-bandaging around his ribs because he got too cocky, “Ye missed it. Bein’ out ‘ere, helping people, making money, _fighting_.” He could tell that despite himself, Vilkas’s spirit for battle hadn’t died out with their Harbinger it just...needed a good kick in the ass. Something the always action-craving man was happy to provide, hence forcing the man out on this contract.

“I guess. Just wasn’t expecting to fight the king of trolls. Which one of you even came up with this stupid plan anyway?”

“Aela. Cheeky lass said it was either a big contract or she was gon’ beat ye depression out ye.”

“Did she now? Well, I’m glad I got the troll then.”

“I’d take both her an’ the troll,” the redhead commented, chuckling at the puzzled expression he got out of the other man.

“Take both…” 

“Oh not like that. I don’ see Aela as anythin’ but a sister. I mean fightin’. She gets it. Farkas too, kinda. Ye on the ot’er hand…” 

Vilkas let out a soft sigh, “No, I suppose compared to those two I’m not as battle-hungry.”

“Why is that?”

“Why are _you_ in to fighting so much? Weren’t you some Breton noble kid before you came to Skyrim?”

“Yes and no,” Kavan reluctantly admitted, deciding to sit up as his current position was definitely not conducive to a conversation with his injuries. “I was a knight. Like me father was. An’ his father before him. An’ his father before him. An’ so on and so on’. Grew up thinkin’ it’d be grand, I’d get t’ brawl an’ fight an’ defend people an’ get me name put down in some history book somewhere but nah. 

Instead it was all pageantry. Armor that looked gorgeous but was more fragile than a flower petal, and the Eight help ye Kavan if ye damage it ‘cause it’s a family heirloom, make sure you remember to dedicate your tourney victory to the lady wit’ the most money, don’ actually hurt the duke’s son, blah, blah, blah. Heard about the Companions in one o’ my studies and so I took me tourney earnings and hopped the first carriage out o’ High Rock first chance I got. So yeh, I was a noble but...a fighting noble. At least I tried t’ be.”

The Nord was a little surprised at the response he got but then he tried to unpack that information and could only focus on one thing. “Tourney?”

“Oh, right, forgot for a second ye Nords don’ know about that stuff. Every few years or so High Rock holds a tournament. Anyone can enter but it’s usually just knights, chevaliers, guards hoping to rise t’ higher ambitions, them types. All sorts o’ entertainment at the tourney but the focus is on the combat events. Winners got all sorts o’ prizes, including a bunch of septims. Got mine from killin’ a giant in arena combat.”

Vilkas snorted after what he had seen just hours earlier, “You killed a giant by yourself?”

“I’ve an audience o’ at least five-hundred witnesses if ye don’ believe me, mate,” the redhead affirmed, resisting the urge to flip off Vilkas for his disbelief. 

“Why would your people hold those things? What for purpose?”

“Entertainment, like I said. It’s a fun time t’ be fair but it’s all faire and ribbon, not much glory t’ be had against creatures that have chains on them or other fighters that are wearin’ armor just for show like yerself are. Now ye Nords, ye fellows know what it is to _fight_ and fer it to _mean_ somethin’. Even the ladies ye sometimes beat each o’er black and bloody o’er could do the same to ye an’ that’s what I yearned fer and I wasn’t disappointed.” 

Kavan pushed back the long side of his hair back behind his ear, pleasantly sighing at the memory he had of first learning about the Nords and the Companions. How the thought of actual fighters that did great deeds at the request of people for more than just cheering and merriment sent a little tingle of delight up his spine. True, the reality wasn’t exactly like he’d pictured but it wasn’t so far from it that he could be disappointed in any fashion and he’d come to love the group like they were truly his family. So of course over the last year watching one of his Shield-Brothers lose interest in the thing that made himself drop everything for Skyrim just wasn’t acceptable.

* * *

As Vilkas listened, he watched the redhead, starting to grasp at least a little of what the man was saying. He supposed once he felt the same way. Fighting for a reason. Fighting at all really. Though, today he realized he did kind of feel the same he'd just become so mopey after Kodlak he had forgotten. He laid down, back to the ground and asked, “So...basically, you just like a good fight?”

Kavan shook his head, grinning at his fellow, “Nah, mate. I _love_ a good fight and ye do too.”


End file.
